“Stepmothers!” repeated Dulcie, lifting her face, from which the color had suddenly faded. “Lizzie, is somebody going to have a stepmother?”
“You are, my lamb,” sobbed Lizzie, and the words were accompanied by a convulsive hug. “Your papa is bringing her home to you. He was married in California last week. Your grandma’s known it was going to happen ever since last winter, but it was your papa’s wish you shouldn’t be told till he came home and told you himself. Oh, my poor baby, don’t cry so, don’t now. It’s an awful thing, I know, and my heart’s just breaking for you all, but it can’t be helped, and you’ve got to make the best of it.”
CHAPTER XV
DULCIE TAKES THE HELM
“DAISY, are you asleep?”
“No,” said Daisy, in a smothered voice, lifting a flushed, tear-wet face from the pillow. “I’ve tried and tried, but my eyes won’t stay shut. I thought you might be asleep, though, so I kept as quiet as I could.”
Dulcie sighed, and slipped an arm round her sister.
“I can’t go to sleep either,” she whispered; “I don’t believe I’ve been asleep at all. I’ve been thinking and thinking, till it seemed as if my head would just burst. I’m so glad you’re awake, for I must talk to somebody. We must whisper, though, so as not to wake Molly and Maud.”
“I think it must be the middle of the night,” whispered Daisy. “It seems ages since I heard Grandma lock her door. Oh, Dulcie, hasn’t it been a dreadful day? I’ve been thinking about stepmothers ever since I went to bed. Do you suppose real ones are all as dreadful as the ones in books?”
“I’m afraid they are,” sighed Dulcie. “They may not all be wicked. Grandma isn’t wicked, but I don’t believe she ever made Papa very happy when he was a little boy. I don’t believe Papa would marry a lady who was really cruel, but even if she isn’t, she won’t want us. We shall be the same bother to her we’ve been to Grandma. That’s the dreadful part of it. Oh, how could Papa have done it? He knew we would always stay with him, and take care of him.” Dulcie’s voice broke in a sudden sob.
It had, indeed, been a very sad evening for the four little girls. They had spent it alone, for Grandma had not come home to tea. She had sent a note to say the children were not to wait for her, as she had accepted the invitation of a neighbor to remain to supper, and go to hear a distinguished speaker at the town hall. As for Lizzie, chief cause of all the trouble, she had been driven home by her husband, a very sad and depressed Lizzie, for every one had blamed her for telling the children a piece of news which Mrs. Winslow had strictly forbidden every member of the household to mention. So the children had sat on the piazza in the twilight, after tea, Molly and Maud with their heads on their elder sisters’ laps, and nobody had talked much. There really did not seem anything to say, and it had been a relief to them all when bedtime came. They had undressed in the same quiet, subdued way, and Molly and Maud had soon forgotten their troubles in sleep.